


Failures

by twigglettz



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Picard
Genre: (almost) Canon Compliant, Angst, Gen, M/M, Spoilers for Episode: S01E07, this hurt to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23321866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twigglettz/pseuds/twigglettz
Summary: Picard had his crew, but as long as Elnor was breathing, he swore that Hugh would never be alone again.
Relationships: Elnor & Hugh | Third of Five, Elnor/Hugh | Third of Five
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	Failures

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in an hour because this pairing is so perfect and it warmed my cold, dead heart before immediately shattering it again.

Elnor had spent his whole life around strong people. The Qowat Milat had been all sharp edges and sharper blades, masters of their craft, gods amongst their people. Elnor had tried every day to prove himself worthy of their title, but he’d always come up short. Zani had laughed at every failure, had picked him up and told him in no uncertain terms to _try harder_. And he’d listened. He’d chosen heavier weights, had stepped lighter on his toes, wielded a broader sword. Nothing had worked, but Zani never failed to remind him that his enthusiasm had meant more than results. That he was fighting for those who couldn’t fight, who would never win. Even if he wasn’t worthy of their name, he had their heart, and that would be good enough.

When he’d chosen to follow Picard, he rationalised it as an old man trying to hold on to an ideal that was dead. Stubborn and refusing to accept the reality of the galaxy now. It wasn't much, but it was better than his life at the sanctuary. It didn’t take long to realise that Picard wasn’t what he thought he was. His age was wisdom, not frailty. His views were hope instead of nostalgia. And as much as he shared those values, every time he looked around, he saw the crew of the La Sirena standing next to him. Good people stuck in an impossible situation, but good people nonetheless. Picard had a fighting chance, and as much as Elnor wished he could be a part of that, there were much worthier causes for him to belong to.

So when he’d found the leader of the ex-Borg on his knees, fingers clutching into the fabric of his fallen brothers, shoulders heaving, and alone amongst the dead, Elnor knew he was right to leave Picard. He’d approached quickly, footsteps reverberating off the metal hull, but the other man hadn’t even flinched. Even when Elnor had rested a comforting hand on his back, he’d barely moved. It was only when his comm went off, overly-cloud chirping cutting through the silence, that the older man had responded. 

“Your friends are worried.” It had hit Elnor like lightning to the chest. The man’s loss was more than obvious. Between the stack of bodies, the metal etched into his face, and the vacant look in his eyes, his pain should have been too much to bear. And yet, his voice trembled in concern over the Romulan, over a stranger. Elnor’s heart had broken in response. Picard had his crew, but as long as Elnor was breathing, he swore that Hugh would never be alone again.

Pulling him up was easy, but they were running on borrowed time already, and Elnor knew they had to move fast. Hugh was still concerningly quiet, but the Romulan had never been very good with words anyway, so he opted for a different approach instead. He brought his hand up, threading his fingers through the older man’s hair, rubbing smalls circles into his scalp, and Hugh had reacted immediately. Different colour eyes had locked with his, smiling when Hugh shakily shook his head, and Elnor knew that was the best he was going to get. So he’d nodded back, and told Hugh in no uncertain terms to _get them back to the Queen’s cell._

\---

With all the lessons of truth, all his sworn proclamations of candour, Elnor couldn’t bring himself to say how fucked they were. Wouldn’t dare extinguish the new-found flame in Hugh’s eyes, refused to flatten the brazen half-smile on his face. So he’d nodded along, let his fingers press against the small of the shorter man’s back in encouragement, and tried to keep them moving. All of the hallways looked the same, footsteps echoing into a whirlwind of sound that he couldn’t quite place, but Hugh’s constant stream of information had been strangely comforting.

Then Narissa had found them. Strutting up to them with all the confidence and power that Elnor had been taught to loathe. He’d answered with his sword, pushing Hugh to safety and cementing himself firmly between his lost cause and the Zhat Vash. And he’d almost succeeded. Had cut down nearly a dozen of his own, green blood prickling at his vision, and then Narissa had threatened his honour. 

“This is not how the Qowat Milat fight. If that’s what you are.” And he’d fallen for it. Had tried to prove himself to another strong woman swimming in bravado and importance, and yet again, he’d failed. The knife tore into Hugh’s throat, and all of his training had disappeared in an instant, trying to reach the human before he could hit the floor. His hand hovered over the blade, too afraid of the oncoming loss, before the rage had kicked in and he’d thrown it back at her. It’d missed by a hair’s breadth, but he barely even noticed.

He ran his fingers across Hugh’s face, had pulled his head up so he didn’t choke on his own blood, desperately trying to make his last moments a little less awful than they actually were, but he supposed he failed in that too. His human hadn’t baulked though, had seemed grateful, and Elnor had to strain to hear the words over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

“Thank you for that.” Elnor had trained every single day of his life to take on lost causes, had rehearsed thousands of situations and inevitabilities, had understood that following Picard would lead to death; Elnor’s, Picard’s, their crews’. He’d acknowledged it, accepted it, even embraced it. But as Hugh’s blood dripped down his wrist, body going limp in his grasp, Elnor had never felt so unprepared.

Hugh had been soft, gentle even. So different from any other ex-Bs he’d read about on Vashti. It wasn't that he was afraid to fight, but afraid to harm, and Elnor had seen the strength in his resolve, in his peace. He’d sworn to be his protector and his enforcer, and he’d managed neither. His shame was short lived as Zhat Vash officers started to swarm, and he’d pressed one last, lingering kiss to Hugh’s temple before being forced to flee.

\---

Elnor had ended up darting under a table, bringing his knees up to his chest and willing himself to stop breathing for fear of being discovered. He had no idea if he was any closer to the Queen’s cell, had barely even taken a note of which direction he’d took, but he still had a mission to complete. The metallic smell of crimson blood was overwhelming, and tears were threatening to spill, but as he sat there waiting to be found, he tried to focus on Hugh’s smile instead.

He could do this.

He’d either save the ex-Bs and fulfill his promise to Hugh, or he’d meet the human again in death. That he was sure of. His fingers wrapped around his tan qalanq, knuckles burning white, and as the scattered voices of the Zhat Vash drew closer, he stood to greet his fate. Either way, Elnor thought. He wouldn’t fail again.


End file.
